PRELUDE

Out of the west when the sun was dying Clouds of white wings came flying, flying, Wheeling and whirling they swept away Into the heart of the eastern gray; But one white dove came straight to my breast Out of the west.

Into the west when the dawn was pearly Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early, Straight from the world of the waning stars; O beating pinions! O prison bars! My dove flies free no more with the rest Into the west.